


Is that a good enough of a dream for you?

by Rainjuly



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: A little angst, How do you people tag honestly, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Neil is confused, Post canon, Pre Canon, mentioned past abuse, neil is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 14:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21147452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainjuly/pseuds/Rainjuly
Summary: Neil had a vague dream where he played Exy. He didn’t remember how it exactly was. But he knew he was feeling something, something he couldn’t explain, in the dream. That he had everything he wished for and more. Maybe that alone became one of the reason why he finally decided to join the Exy team of his high school in Millport.





	Is that a good enough of a dream for you?

Neil woke up, in sudden.

His body ached, he was sweating, and he could feel his whole body trembling. He was desperately gasping for air, and feeling like he was drowning. But the worst thing is that his head hurt. So much. He held it in both hands, and then he pulled his hair, trying to chase the pain away. It didn’t work. The pounding even seemed to get worse. And it felt like the room was spinning around him. 

His breathing was getting worse, and he knew he was panicking.

He tried not to. And he even attempted the procedure his mother had long since taught him to calm down. He counted to ten. In each number the voice in his head turned to sound more like his mother’s. But it didn’t work. He counted to twenty. Still didn’t work. To Thirty. Forty. Deep breath. _Calm down. Remember what Mom said? Panicking will not solve anything. Calm down, Abram._ It seemed to start to make a little difference. To Fifty. His breath started to even. He took a very deep breath and reminded himself he needed to actually be clear headed. _Mom said there’s no time for panics. _To sixty. Seventy.

Breathe in. Out. In. Out. Seventy one, seventy two, seventy three....

Now, he thought he could gather himself together enough to notice his surrounding. 

He took a deep breath and let himself looked around. It was a bedroom. But, not really, he realized when he saw the en-suite, the very comfortable bed with satin sheets, and the whole interior, that this was a hotel room. There was a dresser, a wardrobe, a pair of chairs and a coffee table just by the window. The window is so big and was covered with a grand looking curtain, a love seat in the middle of the room, facing the television. Everything in here screamed luxury, one he knew very well he could never, in a million years, afford. He should feel like he was a great danger, seeing that he didn’t even remember getting in a hotel room, much less the ones that looked this expensive. If he were to check in a hotel, he surely wouldn’t chose this. He’s running away, for fuck’s sake, not in a holiday. But strangely, it almost didn't alarm him that much. Almost. 

What was he thinking? 

And what’s with the headache anyway? Did he get drunk last night? He would never touch a drop of alcohol. If he could help it. 

He tried not to panic the second time. _Calm down, Abram,_ he could almost hear the words being shouted to his ears. He needed himself calm to actually asses what was happening.

His eyes searched the room, again, trying to find a clock or anything to track the time. Then, he found a phone on the bedside table. And when he unlock it, he was startled, he didn’t even remember he was supposed to check the time, because he recognized the picture on the wallpaper and didn’t, if that’s even made sense. 

Because it was definitely him. In the picture, Neil was looking down, so it was hard to see his whole face. But he knew it’s him. Even with the auburn hair he himself hadn’t seen in years. He couldn’t see the color of his eyes due to how small the picture was, but he was sure the brown contacts weren’t on. He was standing there next to a shorter guy with blond hair, another guy with darker complexion, and another tall one with dark hair who wasn’t looking at the camera, Neil couldn’t see his face. 

All were in a picture he didn’t remember taking, with these people he didn’t even know.

How? When was the picture taken? He had not worn his hair in its natural color since forever. And he never actually knew anyone in his life to take a group photo with. The only person he knew was his mother, who was already dead, and even Neil had never taken a picture with her.

What was happening?

He didn’t just wake up in the middle of a night and forget some part of his life, didn’t he? 

He didn’t actually have time to process the whole thing before the door was opened, Neil almost jumped out of his skin. Well, he did. It was so fast and he found himself stood by the bed, breath still ragged. 

And there was figure, a man, he realized, who looked even shorter than him, with seemingly light hair, but he couldn’t make out the man’s face yet, due to the lack of lights. Neil eyed him warily. His body was in alert, prepared to fight.

And then the figure spoke, in a very bored tone, “I went to the roof. Pretty high, this one.” As if that could explain anything. As if it was supposed to mean something to him.

Neil frowned. 

“You had a dream.” 

It was a statement. But it felt heavier than that. Like an understanding. Like concern. Even when it certainly didn’t sound so.

“What? No? No. I’m fine. I, um, was just surprised.”

The man seemed like he didn’t believe Neil. But he let it go.

“Now that you are already awake, the flight is in two hours.”

Neil wanted to ask who the guy was, how he knew him, how he even ended up there on the first place, but he just asked, “The flight?”

The man just sighed. And then he proceeded to walk in and turned on the lights. And Neil finally got a fine look on him, he had blond hair, and wore an equally bored expression as his voice was. And he looked painstakingly familiar, was he one of the faces on the picture? Neil tried to recall it, and yes, he was the blond guy in the picture, Neil was sure now. And Neil was also sure he had seen him somewhere else. He just couldn’t pinpoint _where_. And then the guy took one of the bags from the dresser, and throw the other one to Neil.

Neil caught it.

“Nobody is going to wait for you, Josten. Move.” It didn’t sound as harsh as the words when he said it.

Neil didn’t move.

The man sighed, and took two long strides, and then stood by the bed. He fumbled with the bag he’d just thrown at Neil, took out a shirt and a jeans, and handed them to Neil. Voice even way much softer than before, he said, “Go change, Junkie.”

Neil felt like he could not say no to that so he accepted it without words, and tried to not show his confusion. Something told him he wasn’t in immediate danger, he had a feeling this guy had no intention of hurting him, and he was acting like nothing was wrong, as if Neil was there everyday, as if Neil there was the normal. And he didn’t look much like a kidnapper. Neil would know. 

So, he decided he needed to play along with whatever was happening. Neil eyed the door, he probably could reach it in time, before the man could caught up. But Neil didn’t have his duffel bag, and he could not go without it with him. Everything he had were in the bag, the small number of clothes, money, contacts, and escape plans, his only possessions. So he really got no choice. He silently went to the en-suite.

He walked to the mirror. He despised it, he had not done this for so long. But he had to. He needed to know. So he raised his eyes, and met his own eyes in the mirror. He just stood there, watching, looking. 

As he already suspected, he wore his hair auburn, and his eyes were blue. He almost threw up seeing those features. A memory burned before his eyes, and he didn’t like who this face reminded him of. It’s been years he’d actually seen his natural hair color, or the blue eyes.

There’s several scars he didn’t remember getting, and the ones in his face looked real bad, like someone burned him on his cheek. He would not forget getting this kind of scar, would he? Even the physical reminder was just right there. How could it held no memory? Unless his brain finally decided enough was enough and proceeded to forget the whole thing. Not very unlikely. 

There he stood, a stranger’s face with a bit resemblance of himself.

Bullshit, he didn’t even know how he was supposed to look like. Technically, he did not exist.

He studied the scars. There were a lot. He knew he had them, several of them, he remembered where they came from. But several were scars with no memory behind. Reminder of stories that never were. He frowned at his own reflection. How did he get himself in this situation? Did something happen? Was everything actually okay and he somehow got an amnesia on his sleep? Was that even possible, _him being okay?_

When he was finished, the man with blond hair was still there, seemingly engrossed with his phone, which looked similar to the one that Neil found just a few minutes ago. He realized it wasn’t the same, because that one was still on the bedside table. 

Neil froze by the door, watching him. There was something about him. A strange familiarity Neil could not brush off. Something important. Something significant.

The guy eyed Neil briefly before he took Neil’s phone and threw it in one of the bags (the one he’d thrown at Neil earlier) and then placed both of them over his shoulder and walk towards him, and then he said, “Staring.”

“Sorry,” an automated reply.

He didn’t say anything only took Neil’s dirty clothes and put it into the bag.

Neil took a look at the room, surely there was his duffel bag somewhere in here? He wouldn’t be anywhere without it, would he? It was the briefest act, but the man seemed to catch Neil on it. He raised one eyebrow, without voicing the question that Neil deemed he was currently asking.

“No, it’s nothing.”

He still looked at Neil, bored. But something told Neil that he could exactly see right through him.

He came closer to Neil, trying to get a better look at Neil’s face, studying him. Neil held his breath, but he congratulated himself for not flinching back. Neil stayed where he was. 

But he was close, really close, he didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t think he was ever this close proximity to someone except his mother since forever.

There was a very brief change in his expression, and he looked at Neil, “You are Neil Josten. Number ten fox. Starting Striker,” he said, without a pause, pressing the sentence word by word. 

Neil just stared. 

Neil failed trying not to frown because what the fuck? Starting Striker? _Exy?_ Fox? _Palmetto States Foxes?_ The team _Kevin Day_ was in? It’s impossible for him to even hold a racquet, no matter how much he longed to. And there’s no way in hell he would join a Class I NCAA Exy team, or him purposely putting himself in such close proximity to Kevin Day. _The Kevin Day,_ one of the few number of people who had actually known him in the past. Had Neil lost his mind and decided to abandon everything? To sell himself into danger? To put himself on a stake. And all for what purpose? 

_Exy?_

He could almost believe that. Then he saw his mother face looming in the back of his mind.

“You are Neil _Abram_ Josten,” he said again. Neil was startled. He could not hide it this time. Not when that name came out from this man’s mouth, so casually. He would never tell anyone his real name. Neil Josten was one of his names. But _Abram_ was him.

Neil glanced the door again.

The man noticed. His hands was hovering near Neil’s cheek, as if asking for permission to touch Neil. Neil frowned at him. He held Neil's gaze, and Neil didn’t know what drove him to do it, but he actually nodded. Where did that came from? And he reached out his hands to cup Neil's face.

His hands were rough. Calloused. Warm. Familiar. 

Neil was so utterly confused.

Who was this man? Why did he knew his name? Had Neil actually told him —which was totally unlikely. Is this a dream? Or did Neil really lost his memories? Could he trust this man?

His hands were very, very, very warm. And familiar. The whole thing was —the bored golden eyes, the voice. 

Neil took a very deep breath, tried to calm down.

And somehow it worked. It definitely had nothing to do with the hands cupping his face, nor those eyes. They definitely didn’t ground him. Nobody could ground him except his mother and her yelling, except the very knowledge he still had to run.

As Neil had calmed down, the guy withdrew his hand. And Neil definitely didn’t miss the warmth.

Neil tried to really look at him. He was actually shorter than Neil himself, probably five feet tall? He talked about The Foxes, maybe he’s one of them? If he was, Neil tried to recall the players of Palmetto States University one by one, then if Neil was not wrong, based on his physical appearance he might be one of the Minyard Twins then, Aaron, or Andrew. 

Neil opened his mouth, but before he could get the words out of him, someone was knocking on the door. “Neil, Andrew, you ready? We are leaving.”

So this was Andrew. And Andrew, still looking at Neil, opened the door and gestured to him to follow. His eyes has never actually left Neil’s. So Neil did follow. And he knew this was madness, and he absolutely needed to find out what was happening and how did he get himself ended up in this exact situation. 

But if he went around playing Exy as starting striker with The Foxes, _The Foxes, _the team Kevin Day was in, wearing his hair in its natural color and foregoing his contacts, sharing his real name with Andrew Minyard (and apparently, he just realized this —a bed, he was supposed to share a room with him, and he didn’t see any other bed in the room, and the loveseat looked like uncomfortable and unoccupied, so yeah, a bed) he figured he might as well not have his duffel bags around anymore anyway. 

Once they were out, there were four person waiting for them, Aaron, a guy with a dark complexion who Neil vaguely remembered as Nicky (and apparently, the one in the picture), a girl he didn’t recognize, and of course, Kevin Day (Neil realized he was the other guy in the picture).

He wanted to run. It was prickling under his skin, the need to, the desperate voice telling him to.

Nicky looked at them, grinned, but then he yawned, “Whose bright idea it is to book a fucking flight at four a.m. again?”

“Kevin’s.” Aaron answered curtly.

“We need the extra practicing hours.”

“Who the fuck would want to practice after hours an away game and hours of flight? I can’t believe Coach actually agreed with you,” Nicky glared at him, but failed when he yawned, again.

“He would,” Andrew pointed at Neil, “Junkie.” 

Neil shrugged. He tried to act normally. Well, not really because he didn’t know how exactly normal went for this Neil who played exy with these people, The Foxes. He probably didn’t glance around looking for doors and ways out. And he felt a bit of wary of Kevin, so he tried to be as far as possible from him and used Andrew to shield Neil from him. But nobody seemed to suspect anything, except, of course, Andrew, who sometimes looked at him with that bored gaze of his.

There’s no more conversation, not even about the away game that they apparently had just played and everyone seemed to be next to dead.

They met up with the rest of the team that was already waiting in the lobby. He subtly eyed them. He recognized most of them, and a big build guy —Matt Boyd, he remembered, grinned at him when Neil accidentally caught his eyes. There’s Allison Reynolds, Renee Walker, and Dan Wilds. And other kids he didn’t know (including the girl form earlier who apparently was called Robin, he heard one of the girls called her that) who were probably the new recruits. Recruited between the time he didn’t remember. Maybe he really lost his memory after all.

The Coach (Was his name Wymack?) checked them out and they went to the bus. Neil sat next to Andrew, on the back seat, with Kevin two rows in front of them, and Aaron on his left. Nicky was sprawled in the middle.

The drive was a quiet affair. Apparently everyone were still tired and there was going to be a quite long flight ahead and nobody seemed to be excited about the prospect. Most of them fell asleep almost immediately.

Neil looked outside, thinking about how he probably lost his memory, and the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that somehow told him that he didn’t, and it seemed so fairly insistent on it. He didn’t lost his memory. He just jumped to this place God knows how. It didn’t sound like making any sense, but Neil was sure of it.

Should he told someone? Should he talked about this with Andrew? Or should he do what he knew the best, run? He eyed the exit door. He could jump from a bus and make it safely. He had done that with a train. But he could not get to the door without raising suspicion, so he brushed it off.

A voice in his head, that sounded like his mother was already screaming, demanding him to leave, immediately. He almost expected a hand laying on him the next moment.

But there was also a very stupid voice inside his head that kept telling him to stay.

He tried to put his anxiety down. And of course Andrew knew. He eyed Neil’s hand, and he asked, “Yes, or no?”

Neil wanted to know what Andrew would do that he answered, “Yes.”

And Andrew put his hand on Neil’s and tangled their fingers. Neil tried not to be startled, and he didn’t pull back. He needed to play along and kept going on with everything if he wanted to know what was happening, and he thought that that might be the only answer he had for now. So he squeezed Andrew’s hand twice. 

Andrew squeezed it back.

And it was strange, holding hands. It’s simple. And strange. And he didn’t know how he felt about it.

He was always curious about how it would feel to hold someone else’s hand. He never actually had a chance. A kiss here and there when his mother wasn’t looking was one thing. Holding hand, the simple, uncomplicated holding hands was another thing entirely. Back then, he’d thought it’d be nice, to let someone you trust enough to hold a piece of you like that, casually, so so casually.

He didn’t know if this were nice. Because he didn’t even trust Andrew, he didn’t know him. He just felt so familiar. And this was just because he needed to keep up with it. And he really, really, really didn’t know how he felt about it.

.

Once they got to the airport, lounging on the waiting area, Neil felt nervous. He remembered countless time he’d been in a flight, but this time he was going with these people, to a place he didn’t remember, where he apparently stayed right now. He really didn’t know what to do with the knowledge. He stayed. He stayed.

He didn’t even know what that means. To stay.

Well, he knew the general idea but he never _knew_ it. He never did it. He never felt it. He never even had thoughts of it. And he didn’t want to start now.

But this. This felt nice. While sandwhiched between Andrew and a sleeping Nicky. Matt who smiled at him sleepily from his seat across them. The voices of Allison and Renee murmuring to each other. It felt nice. And somehow despite everything, despite himself, it felt safe.

But he wasn’t supposed to feel safe. Safety was not his to have.

He caught himself looking for exits five times. 

Thirty minutes, Andrew pulled him aside, far from the other’s earshot, and snapped, “What is it with you?”

“Nothing,” Neil lied.

Andrew eyed him, “Tell me your name,”

“That’s stupid.”

“Say it,”

“Neil.”

“Full name?”

“Neil Josten.”

"_Full name?_”

“Neil _Abram _ Josten.”

“And who is that?”

Neil stopped, tried to recall what Andrew had told him earlier, “Number 10 Fox. Starting Striker.”

Andrew regarded him for a moment. “Why are we here?”

“We were in away game,”

“Against?”

Neil didn’t know that. He tried not to let it show, and opted to say, “Why are you asking me these questions, it’s stupid.”

Andrew insisted, “Against?”

“I am not playing your game.”

Andrew went silent. His expression remained the same —bored to death. But there were something in his face that make Neil knew he just gave himself away, and Andrew could see right through it. Apparently, wrong answer. Was it a thing between them, then? Playing _stupid games?_

But Andrew seemed to want to test him again, “Say that one word I hate so much.”

Neil looked at him, the man standing in front of him, Andrew Minyard, who apparently, this Neil trusted enough to share secrets with, and trusted Neil back with secrets of his own, that Andrew was sure only _Neil_ would know the answer of that. But not Neil. Neil wasn’t that _Neil._

How was it to trust someone else that wasn’t his mother? Neil was dangerously close to want it. He wanted to know this Andrew. He wanted to see what this Neil had seen in Andrew. He wanted to know how Andrew, who seemed to know Neil so well, would love him. He wanted to know whether Andrew actually loved him.

He knew he couldn’t escape, Andrew had caught him. He’s left with no choice so he thought he could just take a chance, so he just simply said, “I don’t know.”

Andrew stared.

Neil explained, “I woke up like this, in a hotel room that I didn’t remember getting in. Seeing that phone and that wallpaper with you, Nicky, and Kevin in it. I know you guys, I follow exy, I just had no idea how the fuck I get here. How I am playing with you guys, with Kevin Day. The last thing I remember is I was in Millport, just arriving. But apparently I am not anymore. I might lost my memory. But strangely I didn’t think that was the case. There’s something really weird about it. Do you know if I got hit on the head yesterday or something?”

“You played yesterday.”

Exy was a brutal sport. “Oh.”

Neil was distressed. And somehow he wanted Andrew to understand. He wanted Andrew to just get it, to just know what Neil’s trying to say. “I really don’t think I forgot, or got amnesia or anything. It’s weird. It’s like seeing something that isn’t there. Maybe it’s a weird dream, an amazing dream where I get to play Exy, with the foxes, and apparently, um, had this thing, with you. A dream that are too good to be true.”

Andrew studied him for some time. It made Neil nervous. He felt like everything he was just there, laid bare, and completely seen. He felt vulnerable under Andrew’s gaze. His eyes didn’t show emotion but Neil felt like he could see something underneath it. Something worth knowing. Something deeper that try to dig into Neil even deeper. And Neil felt. He didn’t know what it was. But he did.

And then Andrew, as if having found what he was looking for, stated slowly, “You aren’t lying.” 

“I really am not.”

Andrew didn’t say anything so Neil added, “I genuinely think I am not forgetting anything. It’s really something I’ve never know.”

Andrew was rendered silent for awhile, like he was calculating something, until he said, without missing a beat, “Nathan Weninski is dead.”

Neil flinched hearing the name, and he almost went to a panic attack when Andrew continued, “So is Nathaniel Abram Weninski.”

“What?”

“He died in that room.”

Neil couldn’t make any sense of that statement.

“And now it’s only you, Niel Abram Josten. Number ten Foxes. Starting Striker. You joined the team two years ago, scouted by Wymack _and_ Kevin. You agreed because you were a junkie, who would play Exy as long as you’re still breathing, and apparently had a death wish because you recognized Kevin and you knew what that meant. You got tangled with your past and your father’s business and connections with the Moriyamas. And you traded your life with Ichirou Moriyama for freedom, or something that Junkie brain of yours came up with. Every single secret you had is out. It was in newspaper everywhere. The stories of the butcher. The runaway son who played Exy. You gave your witness statement, and legally changed your name to Neil Josten.”

Neil didn’t know what to say to that. It’s impossible. He wouldn’t have done anything like that, would he? He couldn’t have made those kind of decisions, could he? He wouldn’t be anywhere near where he was right now, would he? He couldn’t have had all the things he had now, could he?

He wanted to. He really wanted to it hurt.

He stared at Andrew Minyard in disbelief.

“Is that a good enough of a dream for you?”

“I....”

Andrew pulled in closer, he was on Neil’s personal space. His face was so, so, so close. Their noses were almost touching. And his brown eyes was close, and it didn’t look bored. It looked.... something.

And Andrew whispers, “Yes, or no?”

“Yes.”

Andrew kissed him. Neil didn’t know what to feel. It’s something. It’s everything. It was it. He didn’t know how to explain it. He didn’t know how to understand it. He didn’t know anything except, except, Andrew’s lips. 

He didn’t know what he was thinking when Andrew pulled back.

He didn’t answer when Andrew spoke, softly, “Is it?”

“What?” that’s the best Neil could come up with.

“A good dream?”

Neil didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to describe all the things he felt with words. He didn’t know how to tell Andrew about how he felt about this —_this_. This everything.

Andrew spoke again, barely heard, “Wake up, Neil.”

.

Neil woke up.

He looked around. It was dark in the house he’d just bought in Millport. And he vaguely remembered a dream about Exy or something, or a whole weird set where he’s interacting with people in an Exy team? It’s slowly fading from his mind.

But it left a residue feeling of....

Everything he didn’t know how to explain.

He didn’t know why he did it but that dream alone made him re-thought about the chance of joining the high school Exy team here, and how he initially decided he wouldn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> I was really nervous about whether or not I should post this (I really almost didn't). But then I was just like, fuck it, I’m doing this. AND so here is it. You must have found out that English isn’t my first language and you probably found mistakes there and there. Hope it doesn’t bother you that much. I just love this Exy Junkie so much not to write anything about him.


End file.
